Game Over
by SaneYaoiAddict
Summary: M for sex, swearing, adult themes, and violence. Matt gets a boyfriend, and he seems perfect. But when he leaves,Mello's the only one there to help him through it... If he can.
1. Love

_**A/N: This has an OC in it, I know some people hate it. It's not too torturous, though, so I know you **_**mature**_** readers can get through it without too much psychological scarring, isn't that right? (: **_

_** Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. Michael is mine, though.**_

Part One

Love

_ His name was Michael, and our time together seemed so short I've often thought it was a dream. Mello introduced us when we were kids, and we all hung out together. We were inseparable since then. We would always joke around and play-fight in those days, but he became remarkably tender towards me when we were older. On Mello's birthday, when we were fourteen or fifteen, we played Seven Minutes in Heaven with a few other kids from Wammy's. We were sent into the closet, and he kissed me on the cheek, after telling me how he felt. Over the next few days, we were no longer friends, but lovers. I still remember his dirty jokes, that lustful grin, the one he always got the second he looked my way. I always knew how he felt about me, and after a while, I started to feel the same way. He was naturally sweet, always caring about me, and every time I got into a fight he would either join in, if he was there, or beat up the person afterwards—since I, unfortunately, nearly always lost. He even made a plan to kill one, who had beaten me up exceptionally badly, but Roger found out and he was locked up for nearly a month. He was kept separate from everybody, yet I still managed to hack into the security and sneak in to see him. _

_ He couldn't do anything about my physical wounds, but he would stay with me until I felt better, my bruises and cuts not hurting so badly anymore, even though he was rubbing up against me. He would be there for hours, staying up all night with me if he had to. He wouldn't talk if I told him not to, if I was still angry, yet somehow just his physical presence was enough to make it seem like everything would be all right. _

_ Sometimes he would just stop by my room, distracting me from whatever I was doing. He was the only one I would allow to interrupt my gaming, no matter what. _

"Matt," he said to me a few days after, on around the 16th of December, when we were at our usual secluded spot outside, surrounded by trees, "We both love each other; you've told me. Yet we've never done more than a quick hug. I haven't pushed you before, but I have needs. I'd like to at least kiss you, even if I can't go further."

"After where your mouth has been? Forget it," I joked, half-serious. He'd gone much further than me, and though we were both fourteen, he was not a virgin like me. He'd lost his at eleven, to a girl outside Wammy's House. He didn't care who it was after that; he simply wanted _more_. I had never even made out with anyone before.

"You're the only one I've had genuine feelings for, the one I'd never rush." I'd been told many times, each time brushing the hair out of my eyes, looking like he was about to kiss me, but he wouldn't. He knew how I felt about it. Each time he did, I saw the look in his eyes, the one that told me he was telling the truth.

"Aw, I brushed my teeth and everything!"

I laughed because I doubted it. Michael's hygiene habits were… Questionable, at best.

"There's nobody around, Matt… Just one kiss."

"All right!" I quickly leaned over and kissed him, blushing furiously, needing getting up on my knees because he was slightly taller than me. I hated being short, but I liked that he was taller than me. It was definitely a turn-on. One of the many things that attracted me to him.

He wrapped his arms around me, leaving me to listen to his steady heartbeat. _Lucky bastard, he's so calm…_

"That's not a kiss, Matt." He pulled my lips to mine, then shoved his tongue in my semi-parted mouth (I had been in the middle of the word, "What?") and moved his tongue around in my mouth, when some part of my brain said, _kiss back you dumbass_, and it clicked suddenly. He pulled away suddenly, revealing my blushing face to him, and he twirled my hair (which was possible because I had long hair, for a guy at least; it covered my eyes.) and said, "_That_ was a kiss, Matt."

"Y-yes it was." I couldn't believe I'd never let him do that before. _What have I been missing out on? And why did I keep fighting him? He knows what he's doing…_

That night, we ended up together, bodies intertwined on his bed, half-naked at that point, with me ready to give into him. I didn't expect _this_ would happen, and certainly not this soon… I couldn't believe how good the pressure of his body on mine felt, both emotionally and physically.

"Are you ready, Matt?" he asked, reaching for my belt, fingers gently brushing the slightly-exposed part of my stomach that had been exposed when he pushed my shirt up slightly. It was unintentional, yet the feel of his gentle touch spread through my entire body. My heart raced, and my skin tingled, especially the places he touched so lightly I almost didn't feel it. But I did, and it felt amazing… And, of course, as his fingers started descending lower and lower on my body, there was the obvious male reaction, which, due to the circumstances, I made no attempt to hide.

"Y-yes." I stumbled on the word, pissed off because my brain wouldn't _think_. I could only _feel_: our closeness, his body on top of me, the gentle warmth of his hand under my shirt, lifting it over my head as I felt myself blush… His hot breath on my neck as he whispered calming words into my ear, tongue gently brushing my cheek. He reached for my belt again, stroking my with his other hand that had made its way into my boxers, which made me cry out.

"M-Michael!" I wanted this, but… I knew it would hurt me. He'd told me this. I _was_ a virgin, after all…

"Don't worry. It doesn't hurt that bad… And it's always best, the first time… Hell, I remember mine…" After fumbling with the buckle for a minute, he pulled my pants down and threw them on the floor. He stroked my hair with his now-free hand and I unzipped his jeans—though I was still about dying just from his touch— and he pulled them off, throwing them to the floor on top of my own discarded pair as he climbed on top of me, kissing my forehead… lips… nipping at my neck… licking my bare chest… He kept teasing me, down to my waist. I couldn't take it anymore; he was driving me _crazy_!

So there we were, in our boxers—to be honest I was quite surprised he wore any— with him on top of me. It was a dream come true for me, albeit a dream I didn't know I wanted for real. Until now.

"All right, so…" he mumbled awkwardly, reaching for a tube by the bed. _He's been planning this, hasn't he?_ "I need to…" he tugged at my boxers, long having removed his hand from them. For which I was slightly grateful; I probably would have came already had he not.

His hesitance was unexpected, and kind of sweet. I'd half-expected him to be more animalistic, or possessive. Biting, tying me up, or _something_. But for now, I was just fine with this. It was almost romantic. If he even _got_ romantic.

"Take 'em _off_ me," I whined, doing my best not to "correct myself" as was a habit from never having anyone else do anything like this. The wait was torturing me, and I wouldn't be able to hold on much longer without him doing _something_. I've never had to wait before, since it's always been me, by myself, when Mello wasn't around. I doubted I'd ever get used to this… My blood was racing, my heart pounding, and he wasn't even _doing_ anything to me. I wished he'd stop being so slow and taking his damn sweet time. Didn't he understand what he was doing to me? I was _dying_ over here…

_So, how does this work, anyway? Where— How does he even…?_

He pulled them off expertly with one hand, tossing them carelessly in the clothes pile that had appeared near the bed, then looked at me, licking his lips slowly as his gaze trailed along my entire body, admiring me as I lay before him, completely naked. It was the first time I had been like this in front of anyone before. I'd been in my boxers around Mello before, as we were roommates, but this was a whole new feeling. I was exposed, vulnerable and had placed my trust in this man to accept me. It was a strange feeling, and suddenly, I wanted to see _his_ entire body as well. I tugged at his boxers, the material hiding the body I so desperately wanted to see. He let me remove them, moving his hips so it was hard to take them off but _damn_ if that careful thrusting motion as he bit his lower lip didn't turn me on.

"Ah… I hate wearing those, you know." He grinned, running his hand through my hair as I blushed. _God… He's huge… _ I imagined what he would feel like, what it would be like with him on top of me, thrusting inside my virgin body…

I squirmed, in pleasure and anticipation, at the mental images as he started to speak again.

"Now… I'm sorry, Matt… This is going to hurt…" he coated his fingers in the substance from the tube and spread my legs out before positioning them over his shoulders to give him better access. I was hardly flexible. Years of being a gamer, sitting on your ass all day, didn't exactly give you a great range of movement. The position was slightly uncomfortable, but I could deal with it for now. "Deep breath…" he whispered in my ear as he pushed one of his fingers into me.

I let out a hiss, clawing at the sheets. Damn, this hurts…

"Sorry, Matty… But that's not even the worst part…" he slid it out, but I only got a second or two of relief before his slipped it back in. He did this multiple times before I started to get used to it. He slid in another finger at that point and I winced again as he moved them in a scissoring motion. He did this again and I tried to block it out, realizing it was a horrible tactic. He was _much_ bigger and longer than a couple of his fingers… How would I react to _him_ being inside me?

He somehow managed, after another minute or so, to fit a third finger inside me. He kept moving them as if trying to find a certain spot. _But that doesn't make sense… Boys don't have that, I think… Do we…? _

And then his fingers reached a spot that made me feel like I would black out from the wonderfully intense feeling.

"Ahh… M-more…" I moaned, choking on the words as I arched my back, looking at the man who did this to me.

He grinned, apparently satisfied from that. He hit it a few more times, a little harder than before, which only made it feel better, before pulling his fingers out. "Sorry… Haven't been with _that_ many guys before… Or at least, haven't topped." He said as he positioned himself in front of an entrance I didn't know I _had_ until then, ready to thrust inside. My legs were over his shoulders, allowing him better access.

"M-Michael!" I was getting both nervous and impatient, desperate for _more_ of him. At the sound of my hesitance, he stopped just as he was about to enter me, but stroked me with a delicate touch, turning me on so much I just couldn't wait anymore. I nodded, exhaling, and he thrust into me, all at once, and I cried out in slight agony from the sudden insertion, but pure bliss as I remembered that it was _him_. But _God_ he was bigger than I thought… And _damn_ he felt good…

"Matty, are you okay?" he asked in a breathy whisper, one that I could feel on the side of my neck.

I mentally thanked him for trying to be gentle, even though it was far from habit for him. I knew he was more into dirty stuff, so maybe next time—

_Holy shit._

I assumed he must have given me a warning, but, lost in my thoughts, I must have missed it, and he must have taken the lust-filled look in my eyes (my goggles were somewhere by the bed, thrown aside in out haste to get undressed) for a yes. He removed himself suddenly, then slid himself in again, hitting the same spot as before. It felt a hundred times better than when he hit it with his fingers, and I couldn't help the moan that escaped me. He felt so… Wonderful.

"G-God…"

He kept up the motion, now going faster, and within minutes I knew I couldn't last much longer. Not with the way he was violating me. In the most pleasurable sense of the word.

"M-Mi… I'm…" For God's sake, I couldn't get his _name_ out; that's just how wonderful this made me feel. I never imagined it would feel this good. My fingers grasped the sheets and I moaned, screaming his name as he thrust into me one more time, moaning as I came on him and myself.

I panted, leaning my head back against the bed, shutting my eyes in pure bliss, as he thrust in one last time, and came inside me. I heard him moan too, but by that point my mind was too far gone, feeling the after-effects of the sensation he gave me. I felt his warm seed, the very _essence_ of him, filling my body as well as my soul (just the thought of him being so intimate with me…). All I could feel was how close he was to me. The rest of the world could go to Hell for all I cared, as long as he stayed here with me, in this moment, forever.

He pulled out of me after a few moments, and I was disappointed because he wasn't in me anymore. There was something about him that brought out these new feelings to me. Something about him that made me just need to be… Close to him. I wrapped my arms around him, listening to his heart stop beating as rapidly, listening to him still panting, now directly in my ear.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, someone was pounding furiously on the door, yelling. I recognized the voice immediately.

It was Mello.

"Matt! Are you in there? I know you have to be! Get the hell out here!"

Michael stroked my hair, kissing my lips once more, pointing me toward the door, mouthing, "Go."

Apparently, he had been awake the whole time while I slept in his arms. The thought made me blush and my heart race, glad he didn't just ignore me after. But then again, that wouldn't be like him. But then, a thought came to mind.

_Shit… Did I…?_

I have a tendency to drool in my sleep. I figure it's because, every time I remember it happening, I had a dream about _him…_ About sex. Mello tells me, a few times, I've actually humped the bed in my sleep. Which is why there is no more 'sharing warmth' in the winter.

"Matt! Get the hell out here, _now_!"

I got out of the bed, leaving his arms, and shivered. The air was so cold, so empty. I wanted to go back to the warmth of the bed, the warmth of his body… I shook my head. Sure, it was depressing—no, heartbreaking— to leave right after, but Mello would _kill_ me if I didn't leave. I threw my boxers and pants on hastily, pulling my shirt over my head as I unlocked and opened the door.

"Yeah, Mello?" I answered, as casually as I could, pulling my shirt down over my waistline. I didn't even try to fix my hair, which added to my—I assumed— sleepy, lusty state. I said nothing about what happened. If Mello didn't know already, there was no point in alerting him.

"Come on, you said you'd let me help you study."

_He nearly broke down the door for _this_?_

"Oh, yeah… Right." I walked behind him to our room, hoping he didn't already know what happened with Michael and me. That would be awkward to explain—not to mention, he'd be _pissed_ that I lost my virginity before him. After all, Mello was far more… Sexual that I was. He flirted with practically everyone, at least whenever I saw him.

"Matt… what were you doing in there? I'm not stupid. I just want to make sure he didn't use you…"

I sighed, starting to explain what had happened earlier, and how those actions led me to end up in his room, and eventually, to having sex with him. If he wanted to know, he had far more unpleasant ways to make me talk. I figured it would be easier to just tell him immediately, while he was still being civil.

"I can't believe you had _sex_ with him." Was his only response.

"I can't either."

The next day, before class, but after Mello left to argue with Near (and lose), Michael stopped by my room.

"So… Last night." I said awkwardly, wondering if whatever he said related to that in any way. It did.

"I'm sorry Mello took you away from me," he said remorsefully, looking down and mumbling slightly.

I was surprised that was what he said. I expected something like, "Wanna do it again tonight?" or at least some perverted comment.

"Uh… Yeah, that sucked. I wish we could've stayed together… Who knows what else we could have done?" I was trying to be sexy. Even though my ass kind of hurt, I wanted to do it again. At least one more time. I understood now why he was such a slut (he's my boyfriend, I'll call him what I want!). Sex was… Amazing. And I'm sure it's great for him, since he tops…

His mind must have been going in a similar direction, because he asked me suddenly (or maybe not so suddenly; I didn't know how long I was distracted by my own thoughts) "How'd you like to be on top next time?"

_And there's the Michael I know and love. I smiled, at this, though the actual prospect frightened me slightly._

"A-are you sure?" I was kind of nervous the idea was facing reality, but… Almost anxious. Excited. Horny.

"Hell yeah. Meet me after class, all right?"

I nodded.

That day in class, I didn't pay attention. At all. Granted, I normally didn't, but I was actually focused on _something_ today. Him. After class, I raced to his room, practically knocking over everyone who happened to be in the hallway. I was hesitant as I knocked at the door, but couldn't help a smile as he answered, shirt already off. I stumbled inside, grinning like a madman.

He led me inside, wrapping his arms around me, the feeling enough to make my heart beat faster. It was only the second time. I wasn't used to this…This _thrill_ it gave me. Being with him, doing _this,_ just felt so…Right.

I gulped, nervous, my face flushing as I undid the button on his jeans, pulling them off with some difficulty—but he'd made it look so easy….!— and throwing them on the floor. Looking at his now-naked body, I nearly fainted thinking about what was about to happen. I don't know why it was so different this time, but something about _him_, who was so aggressive and powerful, would let _me_ do this to him, made me so much more nervous.

"H-how do I do this?" I asked, panicking, eyes growing wide. I hoped he didn't just get impatient and do it himself…

Instead, he smiled, actually quite patient and understanding, which he never was. "You're so damn cute when you're nervous…" He put his hands in my hair, making me lose my balance and nearly fall into him. The comment made me blush even more, and I dove into his arms for comfort. He chuckled.

"Don't worry about it… You'll be great inside me…" he whispered softly as he pulled me closer, whispering the last part in my ear, practically licking me. I let out a small moan. God, he was great at dirty-talking. Especially since he knew all the ways to turn me on, even though there's no way he could have known that just by being _him_, acting the way he did, so unrestrained and unplanned, wild and reckless, a behavior that was so _unique_ here, was actually enough.

But grinding his hips into mine, biting at my neck while whispering how badly he'd like me to shove myself up his ass? Hell yeah, that helped too.

I let him take me to the bed, rolling over so I could be on top of him. He unzipped my jeans, looking up at me with experienced, yet impatient, eyes, pulling them down to my knees. I wanted him to touch me more… Like last time. Though my wish was unspoken, he slipped his hands into my boxers, stroking my length _just_ lightly enough to make me shudder. He grinned at me, then removed his hand, sliding the material off me, leaving my lower half completely naked, and revealing my erection.

"Don't worry… Just come here. Slip into me…" He pulled me closer, sliding his hands under my shirt and pulled it up.

_Wait… What was that thing he did, before we did anything last night?_

"Don't- I… Did we forget…"

"What? Oh. Heh, I did it myself. I didn't want to bother you with it, since you seem to get frustrated with things like that."

"Mm…" I looked over his body, running my hand over his length slowly, which I knew would drive him half-mad. "So… Now I…"

"Take your time," he said, more patiently than he obviously was. He was squirming at my touch, desperate for more.

I nodded, and let him wrap his legs around me. I breathed in and out a few times, then adjusted our positions, placing myself at his entrance. I was so nervous. What if I didn't do it right? What if he didn't like it…?

_Well… There's no way to stop now._

I allowed myself to relax a bit more, breathing slowly, and slipped myself in entirely, moaning at the new sensation, and getting a groan from him. _Oh God… He… He feels amazing. _

He let out a sound, similar to a moan but not quite, that expressed his impatience, his _need_ for me. He also moved his hips, aching for more. I willingly complied, giving him _more_ of me. He could have as much as he wanted. I let out a rather loud moan as I thrust into him again, feeling his heat and… Oh God, it felt so good.

I remembered what he did, where he changed the angle and it suddenly felt so much better… _what did he do? Damn it, what did he do?_

I changed the angle, then thrust back into him. He bit his lip, but still was unable to hold back the moan that came from his lips. "Ohh… do that again…"

Proud that, for once, _I_ could make _him_ feel that way, I thrust in again, a slight smile on my face, into the same spot. I repeated this motion again and again, falling into a steady rhythm, as I began to realize I wouldn't last much longer. He was tightening around me—which wasn't helping matters— and fighting to breathe, by the looks of it. He was gasping, panting, moaning— and it was highly erotic for me, to know that I could force him down to _this_ state. With one more thrust deep into him, he shuddered, groaning, as he came on me, then nearly collapsed on the bed. I knew he wanted to rest, but I pulled him up slightly so I could finish, and thrust just once more before I came inside him. My heartbeat was still rapid, and I was still panting as I slid out of him, laying next to him on the bed, satisfied.

"See, Matty? I told you you'd be great inside me…" he whispered, the sound of his low, sexy voice almost enough to turn me on again. He ran his hand through my hair as he brought me closer, kissing my forehead. God, I loved him. So, so much. I loved how he could be so sexy, so passionate—especially in bed— and still manage to be so delicate with me at the same time.

"Mm… Can I just sleep over here?" I asked, snuggling closer to him. _He's warm…_ I thought with a grin, pressing myself even closer to him.

"Sure." He said, looking down at me with a smile, allowing me to wrap my arms around him.

"Good night…" I yawned, before my eyes closed, falling asleep easily because of the exertion, warmth, and feeling of safety he created.

_**A/N: All these chapters are huge, so I had to kind of cut them up a little. So if the ending seems choppy, that's why. Anyway, reviews would be lovely. (: **_


	2. Love Part Two

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

We slept through dinner that night, but nobody came to get us. We slept so soundly that we woke up the next morning, just before school started. We walked to class together the next morning. We don't have a seating chart—why bother, when there's only about twenty kids in the class— I sat at the same table as Michael, in the back of the class, out of the teacher's view. When the teacher started talking, neither of us paid much attention. I started up my game under the table and began to play, and Michael stared off into space, no doubt having some fantasy come to life in his head. After about an hour, he must have gotten bored, because he looked under the table, watching me play my game.

"This class is so boring," he whined softly, gently touching my leg.

I just nodded, having no desire to lose my game, but his touch drove me wild, making me squirm.

"S—stop… Not here…" I whispered, barely restraining a moan. Thank God the class was talkative today, so nobody heard us. "We'll get caught."

"It'll feel good for you, though… And we won't get caught." He said, reaching in between my legs.

I let out a surprised squeak—which I'm glad nobody heard— and bit my lip, moaning quietly as he started to tease me, stroking me lightly with his fingers.

"Shh…"

I squirmed, and I died in my game, so I shut the power off. Now, I was only focusing on his touch, and also wondering how I would manage not to cum from his touch within the next five minutes.

"So… After class…" he stated calmly, still taunting me with his touch, "Want me to suck you?"

I made a jerky motion with my head that I hoped at least resembled a nod, as I let out a choked sound from deep in my throat. I could never stand it when he _teased _me. It felt good, but knowing I couldn't have any more… It hurt me, physically. I felt the ache in every inch of my body as I laid my head down on the desk to hide the look on my face. I looked up, only moving my eyes, as I glanced at the clock with my head resting on my arms. As I watched the seconds tick by painfully slow, Michael reached down the front of my pants.

I let out a groan that I was surprised nobody heard, and shivered. "D-don't…"

He sighed, removing his hand from my pants—for which I was grateful—but it didn't really help. After all, I was still left with a boner that I couldn't exactly take care of here. I almost wanted him to start touching me again—instead of that, now he was just gazing off into space with those pretty dark brown eyes of his—but I didn't want to get caught.

The bell finally rang, and I grabbed my backpack, which I held in front of me with both hands in an attempt to hide my 'situation.'

"Come on," he said, grabbing one of my wrists, throwing me off balance, as he rushed me to the bathroom just around the corner. He dragged me into the furthest stall from the door, so we wouldn't be heard; the door was so heavy, it was almost soundproof, but the further away we were from the hall, the better. He pushed me down onto the toilet and yanked my pants down as I attempted to find my balance so as to not fall in. I could _hear_ my heart beating. He pulled my legs apart. I could feel his hot breath as he moved his head closer. As he began to lick me, I squirmed, pressing back against the toiled—which hurt, but that wasn't exactly the feeling I was focusing on at the moment.

"Nh…" I groaned.

He pulled his head away, then looked up at me, smiling, before opening his mouth wider and taking it all into his mouth.

"Ah!" I moaned, throwing my head back as he bobbed his head up and down to take it all into his mouth, then pulled up and began teasing me again, licking up my entire length.

The new feeling had my moaning louder than ever, and unable to control myself—or even to know that I should— I bucked my hips forward, forcing myself deeper into his mouth and throat. He gagged, and I could tell he wasn't pleased with me, but the sheer _feeling_ pushed me over the edge. I moaned as I came into his mouth, and he swallowed visibly as he pulled away, then bent down again, licking me once more. He looked up at me, satisfied that I was now 'taken care of,' as was obvious from his wide smile.

I was panting, my heart beating fast from the thrill. As I leaned back, I managed to ask—between pants, that is— "Want me to get you?" As I said this, I glanced down, checking to see if he wanted it or not. He did.

"No, don't worry about it. This was for you."

"What if I want to do it?"

"I'll do it myself," he said defiantly. What the hell was his problem?

I shook my head. "Mm-nhn. Jacking off is _nothing_ compared to that. I'll get you, now come on. You're being stubborn for no reason."

I stood up, legs wobbling slightly as I was still feeling lingering signs of the pleasure he had given me, and pulled him up as well. "It'll be fun… I promise…" I said, teasing him not only with my words, but with the hand that I had shoved down his pants.

He wiggled slightly from the sudden, gentle touch. I smirked at him, then unzipped his pants and pulled them to his thighs, letting them fall around his ankles on their own. I dropped to my knees, holding my hands flat near me on the floor for balance.

I started to lick him slowly, just the tip at first, then the rest, making him shudder slowly. I smiled, though more mentally than physically.

"Y-you don't have to…" he said, resisting a moan.

"I want to," I said, removing my mouth from him, yet still was so close that he felt the heat of my breath, and fought to stay still.

As soon as the sentence was out of my mouth, I took as much of him as I could into my mouth.

He threw his head back, letting out a low moan, which I took as a sign of encouragement, and that I was doing it right. His legs were shaky, fighting to stay standing with the feeling I was giving him. I kept this up, as he stroked my head lightly, fingers curling in my hair, grabbing it and pulling it slightly painfully as he threw his head back again. He made a movement with his hips that I could only assume was him trying not to buck into my mouth. He let out another moan, followed by, "Matt, I…"

I knew, by the way he was moaning. He only did it when he got really close. So, with that and his little warning, I was prepared when he came, the liquid shooting down into my throat and making me gag, though I swallowed like a good little boy.

He sat down next to me on the cold tile floor, both of us shaking. He wrapped his arm around my neck, letting his fingers twist my hair around.

"I didn't want to make you choke, that's why." He muttered, pulling me closer to him. I let my head rest on his shoulder.

"It's okay, I like knowing I can please you." I said, wrapping my arms around him. "I love you…"

"I love you, too," he said, letting my head stay settled on his shoulder as I snuggled him, smiling to myself.

"We should probably go, lunch is probably almost over by now." He said, sitting up straight and startling my from my position on his shoulder. I sighed, and let him help me up as we both pulled out pants up.

_Moment killer_.

We kept up that same routine, going to class, teasing each other, then rushing off to a bathroom stall, for months. Of course, we had sex, too. We only did the bathroom stall thing when we simply couldn't wait any longer.

So, when it was mid-April, we still did the same thing: rush into a bathroom stall as soon as class was over. It was uncomfortable, though it was still closer than our room. It might be less private, but we couldn't wait that long. Not with what we were whispering to each other in class.

"Oh, Matt… I couldn't wait much longer, I was about to cum then and there, the way you were touching me," Michael said, slamming me against the wall as he pressed his lips to mine passionately. I groaned into the kiss, letting his hand slip into my pants and stroke me, only teasing at this point. I was long past ready for this.

"I couldn't either… Hurry up, already…" I whined, placing one hand at his waistband, sliding his pants off the best I could while I unbuttoned and unzipped them with my other hand. Once I got them down to his waist, they slid off his skinny frame easily, and I pulled him closer to me. He undid my pants as well, as he slid his hand out of them, and wrapped my legs around his waist, ready to thrust into me.

I leaned my head back as he nipped at my neck, licking at the places where he had accidentally bitten too hard and drawn blood. I groaned, unable to think straight, the _want_ overpowering every other emotion just then.

I let him reposition me again, biting my lip to keep from crying out, and thrust into me, making me throw my head back—as well as I could, anyway, as I was up against a wall— in pleasure, letting out a moan as he struck my sweet spot. He really knew my body so well, after all these times…

He pulled out, but thrust in again soon after, a little harder this time. I'd come to love when he was like this; animalistic, possessive, and just plain _sexy_. It was just amazing. I wrapped my arms around him, digging my fingernails into his back to keep my balance in this odd position, that I was somewhat used to by now. Still, with all the pleasure he gave, it was easy to get lost in it and fall down.

Soon after, we were both groaning, letting each other know that we were close. Just as I was about to cum, however, there was a knock at the stall door. It wasn't very forceful, so I knew it couldn't be one of the teachers—or worse, Roger.

"Guys? There's a teacher coming. I think he heard you. I knew you'd be here, I saw you during class. Just… Hurry and finish, don't get in trouble." It was Mello's voice, I knew that now. I could tell that it was clearly awkward for him to be here, knowing that I was having sex with Michael.

He sighed, then told Mello, "We'll be out in a minute… We're almost done, anyway…"

"You can't! He's right outside! He'll be here any second, and he'll catch you! Get dressed and let's _go_!" His voice was urgent.

Michael pulled out of me reluctantly, with a groan. Neither of us wanted this to happen. We both just needed a few more seconds, but with the way Mello sounded, we didn't have even that much time. We pulled out pants up hastily, and walked out of the stall unsatisfied.

We all ran down the halls, back to our own rooms. Michael went to his own, presumably to work off his anger. He had a bad temper, and didn't deal with things well. Still, being with me relaxed him, or so he'd said. I didn't question it at the time, and I went back to my room with Mello, assuming he wanted to be left alone.

We got there and locked the door, both panting as I leaned against the door, sliding to the floor. I smiled at Mello. We used to do things like that all the time, and we always avoided trouble by the skin of our teeth. Or, at least, most of the time. As we got older and planned elaborate pranks, sometimes we got caught. But this time, the thrill of escape had my adrenaline pumping.

I muttered something to Mello about going to the bathroom. I couldn't stand to be left unfinished, and this was the first time in forever I'd had to do this myself. But I didn't want to risk catching Michael in a bad mood. It hadn't happened since we'd dated, but the memories didn't please me.

I let his face fill my mind, reaching impatiently into my pants as I slammed into the door to close it, locking it with my other hand. I really hated waiting. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding as I pulled my pants down to my waist as I began to get myself off. I didn't even bother to try to keep quiet; Mello knew damn well what I was doing in here, anyway. There was no point to try to hide it.

As I came, relief flowed through my body, the need for climax satiated at last, yet… Still, it sucked compared to the way Michael made me feel.

I washed off my hands and waited for my breathing to return, basically, to normal, before unlocking the door and sitting by Mello on his bed. "Hey," I said with a smile on my face as I fell backwards, flopping on the bed as he shook his head and smiled at me. Seeing Michael always had me in a good mood, even if we didn't get to finish each other. Any day I got to see Michael—which, virtually, was every day— was a good day.

"You're such an idiot sometimes." He said as I pointed across the room to my DS, implying that he should go get it for me.

I made a whining noise. "I don't wanna get up." I smiled at him, and he sighed and got it for me. He dropped it on my stomach—which hurt, but I was glad he got it for me, as always— and I smiled at him. "Love you, Mels."

"You too, Matt," he said, with the same smile on his face. I started up my game, letting Mello talk to me as I shot my enemies with near-perfect accuracy. If I wasn't so distracted by him, it would be perfect.

Mello and I just sat around talking in our room, about what we were thinking of doing this weekend—because even in an orphanage, we have _plans_— when there was a loud _slam!_ And a _bang!_And as I looked, there was no longer a door. Just an angry figure in the doorway with eyes like the devil.

Also known as Michael.

"Mello, you son of a bitch! I wasn't _done_ with him yet! Matt, come _on_. We're either going back, _now_, or I'll do it right here."

I was amazed at how dark he had become. He was nothing at all like the man who had been so gentle with me earlier, so tender with my body, who held me while I slept in his bed. He was nothing like the man who would fight to protect me. Violence out of love. He wasn't even like the dirty boy I came to love, making perverted comments, but with a light heart. He meant them, sure. But he never tried to offend anyone. Especially not me.

This man… He was pure evil, not the man I fell in love with.

"N—no, Michael!" he was going over to Mello, and it looked like he would attack him. Mello got ready to fight back.

"You stay out of this, Matt!" he growled, a sharp edge to his words that I had never heard before— or at least, not directed at me. Something about that just cut deep into my heart. I shrunk into a ball, curling up by the bed as I watched my best friend and lover fight. I was deeply worried for them both. I had seen them fight other kids before; Michael for me, and Mello to get back his chocolate, or out of boredom. And from that, I could see that this fight would have not winner. Only two losers. Three, if you count me, who has to watch it all…

"Don't hurt him!" I yelled, unsure who I was talking to.

"I'll _try_ not to put him in the hospital…" Mello said, throwing a punch.

"Damn it, Matt, just—" Michael began, spitting out a fair amount of blood as Mello's punch connected with his jaw, in the middle of the sentence. "—whose side are you on?" The last part of the sentence came out as a low, guttural growl, deepened by pain.

This violence… It was tearing my heart in two. There wasn't any reason to this. I didn't want either of them to hurt the other.

"Pick a side, Matt. Then you'll be just as involved with this as either of us." He hit Mello back, kneeing him in the junk, making him keel over. Sure, Mello was tough, but that hurts _everyone_. I winced, realizing what an ass he was.

"This isn't like you…" I muttered, trying to stop my tears, shaking my head.

"How do you know? You don't know me worth shit!" he slammed Mello's head into the wall, causing him to bleed and pass out, sliding to the floor against the wall as his eyes shut and his head rolled to one side, limp. He was my best—and only— friend. And the man I loved did this to him.

"You don't know me either!" I countered, anger I'd never felt before showing in my eyes, rather than the love or fear from moments ago. Well… I still felt the fear, I knew.

"No, Matty. I know you better than you think." His casual use of the nickname he used while I was in bed with him—not _hours_ ago— sent me over the edge, making rage spread through my already burning blood. _Stop insulting me, you jackass_.

He stepped away from Mello, turning towards me, with that _look_ in his eyes he got—or… used to get— when someone hurt me.

"Prove it." I said, even though I didn't want him to. He was just being such an _ass_.

"Let's see… Nobody ever pays attention to you, and it just _kills_ your ego that everyone only focuses on Mello and Near, because they're so much _better_ than you at everything. I'd say your parents either ignored you, or divorced you and never paid attention to you because they were busy fighting. I'm willing to guess something just _dreadful_ happened to them, but too late to stop your _horrible_ childhood." He wasn't done, not by a long shot. He just wanted his horrible words to sink in, to cut every part of my heart as he dug up memories I had long buried, memories that were the cause of many nights spent crying myself to sleep. And they did.

I _killed_ my parents in self-defense. My father was drunk again, and wanted an… Outlet. He decided to take my mother's delicate body—she was a small, frail, but beautiful woman, and I wish I lived with her instead of my father— and smash her head in against the wall. _Just as he did with Mello_…

He did this, right in front of me. I ran to their bedroom, where they kept the guns. He was always trying to make me more "manly; real men don't play games, they _kill_," and taught me how to shoot. Even though I hated him for every _second_ of that, and the fear that he would get one of his fits and shoot me, it paid off now. It was unlocked; he wasn't very smart. And those lessons, and his carelessness and violence, would lead to his death. I pulled out one of his shotguns, knowing full well it was loaded, and cocked it. I snuck back into the living room, where he was violently attacking my mother, still. I looked at her once and knew there was no way she could be alive, not with the way her body was twisted and bloodied. I let one tear slip from my eye before pulling the trigger, the gunshot shattering my entire life as I blew apart my own _father's_ brains.

Which, as it turns out, wasn't so different from a monster…

Except this monster was my family… Which means I'm a monster myself.

I was a murderer. There was blood on my hands. I killed my own father heartlessly to save my own life… And look what I've done with it.

He looked at my face, the intensity returning, replacing what I assume could only have been my look of sheer horror as I recalled that horrible night of two and a half years ago, and smirked, continuing his torment. "Because of that, you've never really let yourself close to anyone, as your own _family_ didn't seem to care. So why should anyone else? Everyone you've ever loved either faked to love you or just never noticed you in the first place… You're pathetic, Matt." My eyes opened in shock. I was amazed and horrified that he was able to understand what my thoughts were just from that. I'd never told him anything like that. I've never told _anyone_ what happened to my parents.

I was devastated that the first person I'd opened my heart to, after all these years, was capable of hurting me, of destroying my world this heartlessly. He said he loved me. And I believed him. I looked over at Mello, deciding I didn't want a man like that… Even if it killed me to be away from him.

"Michael, get the hell out! I don't want a relationship if you're just going to be like this…"

"Fine. I know where I'm not wanted… Goodbye, jerks." He walked over to Mello, kicking him, making him let out a whine; he was awake. He kneed me in the stomach, and I fell over, betrayed and in pain, as I watched my ex-lover walk out the doorway. It seemed like he should slam the door, but there wasn't one anymore, because he knocked it down.

"I'm sorry, Matt… I didn't want him to be like this… Especially towards you…"

"I know…" My eyes couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I pulled my goggles down to my neck as I cried. "M—Mello…"

He came over to me, wobbling; he was probably dizzy. He kneeled down beside me. I grabbed him, sobbing. This sudden movement obviously caught him off guard, and he nearly fell on top of me, but somehow caught himself. We would have laughed, had Michael not just left us. Especially since he was the type to hurt someone physically, ignore them, and then attack them with words that made you laugh at first, then think about it. He was the type to destroy you from the inside, as well as the outside.

And yet, I couldn't let myself believe he was gone. Mello straightened himself, balancing again, as I tightened my grip around him. He was warm… Like Michael, when he held me…

"I'll miss him…"

He sighed, running his fingers through my hair. The knowledge that it was _Mello_, not _Michael,_ doing it shattered my already-broken heart into a thousand pieced that stabbed at my other internal organs.

"I know you will."


	3. Loss

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. **_

Part Two

Loss

He left me in mid-April. Now, it was early May, and I was dying. That night, he took what little he had—clothes, his few possessions, photographs, and memories; that was all any of us had, photographs and memories—and left into the night without a word to me.

_Everyone you've ever loved either faked to love you or just never noticed you in the first place…_

Those words stung so badly, more than he could ever know. Nothing had ever cut deeper into my heart than his last words to me, in my entire life. Not even that horrible day when I'd lost my parents. I'd given myself to him, my whole being, mind, body, and soul. And he'd given his body to me. After that night, I couldn't say for sure whether he'd ever really loved me.

Then, he'd just left, without even saying goodbye to the one he supposedly loved the most. It was so cold here without him, though the summer sun was heating up Wammy's again. In my heart, there was nothing but undying sadness at his disappearance. I didn't want to believe he was gone, and I would do anything to get him back.

I was alone again. Every night, as I lay down to go to sleep, there was something missing. I missed the nights I would stay in his room all night, sleeping in the same bed as him. I missed being able to wrap my arms around him, reassuring myself that someone _cared_, before I fell asleep at night. That touch was enough to make me smile, to make me believe my world was perfect.

"Michael, I miss you so much…!" I sobbed, slamming the bathroom shut with my back, doing my best to not fall to the floor a sobbing mess. I pulled off the pants I slept in, too lazy to even take them off to make myself more comfortable. I had planned to take a shower, but the memories of our last time… It happened on our last day together, and my heart cried out to me from the lingering pain, but still… It was sex. And I hadn't had sex in so long…

As I removed my boxers, I gently—though not quite unintentionally, maybe subconsciously— stroked myself. I looked again to make sure the door was locked, for no good reason. Mello wasn't even _here_. I took hold of myself, thoughts of Michael leaving me drifted in my mind, but I pushed them back. I concentrated on one of our last days together, when Michael jacked me off in the bathroom, doing my best to only concentrate on the physical feeling of that day, not the pain I felt now. I remembered that time and, before long, I came, all over my hand and the shower tiles—I was in the shower, but I'd just never turned the water on— as I moaned out Michael's name loudly, as I did the times he was actually there, then sobbed at least twice as loud.

It just hurt._ Why does it hurt? It's a happy memory. _

After a few minutes of sitting there, naked, sobbing, with my hands around my knees, I turned the water on as I stood up, trying to keep my balance by leaning on the wall. I let the water wash all remnants of the deed from me, all the while not stopping my tears. They rolled down my cheeks, and the water washed them away, leaving no trace of my broken heart. Besides the fact that I couldn't stop the tears. After I shut the water off, standing still for a second, thinking about how unbearable my life had become, I grabbed the towel and dried myself off. I wrapped the towel around my waist once I was done with it, debating about whether to go lay on my bed—though Mello hated when I did it half-naked like this; but it was Saturday and he wouldn't be here at least for another four hours— but for some reason, I didn't feel like leaving the bathroom. I placed my goggles on my head so I didn't have to move them if—or, more likely, when— I cried again. I sighed, leaning against the wall after half-dressing in my boxers, not feeling like putting the rest of my clean clothes on. The tile felt cold against the still-hot bare skin of my back, but I paid no mind. Emotionally, I was dead, and had been for over a week. Physical discomfort meant nothing to me anymore. I didn't care enough to eat. I'd barely eaten more than one _small_ meal, even by my standards, a day since he left. I'd hardly even touched my games. It seemed all I did these days was cry.

That, or lock myself in the bathroom and masturbate…

It didn't seem like I had anything better to do. And it would provide a distraction from the reality I hated so much, even more than ever. My games used to distract me well enough, but they just don't seem important anymore. Nothing does.

I took hold of myself again, starting to jerk myself off, imagining it was him doing it to me as I shut my eyes, blocking out the painful reality, that I was alone, in my bathroom, a shattered mess. I had been Matt, who never let anything affect me. Matt, who didn't care what happened to him, or anybody. Matt, who jacks himself off in the bathroom, thinking of the one person he can never have…

There was a stinging in my heart, but I pushed it back for the moment. I came in my hand and shook it off onto the tiles, moaning out his name again. I wiped at my eyes with my other hand; as the pleasure faded away, so did my ability to hold back the pain. All this was just a temporary distraction. Switching back to reality was ten times harder than just dealing with it, because I could never hold back the tears, in the moment of sensitivity when I snapped back to reality. But it was worth it for a moment, even just a

second, without the pain of him not being with me, the knowledge that he was probably with someone else, treating him exactly like me—using him, saying he loved him, when it was really just a game to him.

My day continued like that, for hours and hours. As the time passed, I lost track of it and even how many times I came. I was getting sore, but I ignored it in an attempt to block out the empty feeling in my chest. All I did was cry, jack off, cry some more, and repeat.

I knew it was helpless, but I just couldn't stop myself from doing it. Especially since it dulled me, making my heart hurt less for the time being. Instant gratification.

I knew I was only making it worse by trying to hold on, to believe he was still here with me.

But since I couldn't stop, I started once more. Almost as soon as I came, yet again, choking out his name weakly as I started sobbing, there was a slow, hesitant knock at the door, startling me, tearing me from my own depressing world, where it was just Michael and me. Still happy. But somehow, the thought of that only made my heart ache more, longing for the way he and only he made me feel, that no one could ever replace.

There was another knock, the same slow, careful movement as before. "Matt, you've been in there all day," Mello's voice stated, a sense of caring in his voice that hurt me in ways he couldn't have known about, that made my entire body fill with what I could only describe as emptiness. "I can hear you screaming, moaning _his_ name, and crying right after… I'm assuming you're masturbating… It's not healthy… Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" I sobbed, choking on my own tears that I was now trying to hide. "Go away!"

Mello sighed, fingers drumming on the door, then stopped the rhythm suddenly. It seemed he wanted to say something, from the sudden intake of breath, but the silence suggested he couldn't make up his mind. After a few minutes, he took a deep breath, and the next words out of his mouth caught me completely off guard.

"I… I love you, Matt." The voice was almost a whisper, but I heard it perfectly, along with footsteps steadily growing softer, the bedsprings creaking, and—

Sobbing? No… Mello was too tough for that.

But I wasn't.

Those words, spoken so carefully, so softly, so _thoughtfully_, pushed me deeper into my own mind, the perfect yet twisted and ruined world where Michael and I were together once more. I pulled my goggles over my eyes. The world of my dreams and nightmares was tinted orange, just as it always was when I was with him. If I don't see the colors of this world, like when I was with him, it was like I was back then, with him once more, in my own imaginary world.

I sobbed, taking hold of my sore cock once again. I didn't care about the physical pain of the act anymore.

I could end it all any time I wanted to, anyway.

After I came, for the last time that day, I pulled my clean shirt over my head, onto my body that just felt… Dirty. Not just physically, but stained with _him_. I didn't want to take another shower. I only splashed my lower body with lukewarm water from the sink, pulling my boxers and pants on again, and picking my clothes off the floor. I stared at myself in the mirror. I'm sure my eyes were red, but nobody could tell under my goggles. That's the way it was with me. If the world couldn't see my eyes, they couldn't read my emotions. Couldn't see the real me inside, just dying for help, dying for my lover to come back.

My hair was an absolute mess, and my cheeks were stained with tears. They burned slightly from where the tears made their path down them.

I left the bathroom in its messy state, my cum staining most places in the room at least _slightly_, as I had moved around in my half-dead mental state, not wanting to sit in it, and wanting to find a comfortable position. Which my mind wouldn't allow, since even _how_ I sat reminded me, in some way, of Michael. I left the room like that because I was in no mood to clean it up—or do anything, for that matter.

I threw my clothes in the corner closest to my bed, making a promise to myself, that I knew I wouldn't keep, to take care of it later. But that's all my life was, at the moment. Lies, broken promises and an empty heart.

I flopped down onto my bed, covering myself with blankets to hide from the world, from the only person I had left. Even though I'd trade his life for Michael's in an instant. I also hoped they would help me feel less cold, less empty. But they didn't. I was still just empty and _dead_, and nobody even gave a shit.

Well, maybe one person. But he didn't mean much to me anymore.

But from what he said earlier, he…

I had done my best to block out his words earlier, when he said them, but when they came back to my mind, haunting it… They hurt slightly less.

Still painful enough to make me want to smash them—literally—out of my head, but… Less.

I exhaled, forcing myself to stand, then walk over to his bed and sit on the edge, facing him, balancing on the very edge, with my legs stretched out on the bed. I watched him for a second, looking at the way he was curled in a ball above the covers, and heard the sobs even louder from here. As soon as I leaned in a bit closer, he must have felt the bed shift slightly—I don't know how, I barely weighed anything anymore—as he turned his head to face me. He immediately jumped up and threw his arms around me, pulling me closer, which made us fall over, with me landing on top of him.

"Mello!" I cried out in surprise and slight horror. The last time I was this close to anyone…

I fought my body, trying not to grow hard at the memory. After all, I was on top of my best friend. That would get awkward.

"Matt, I… I'm sorry… I just wanted to hold you… If only one time." He ran one hand up my back, fingers grabbing at my hair, pulling slightly, making me wince. He pressed me into his chest, and I was left listening to his heart, beating erratically, most likely in bliss as he finally got to hold the one he loved.

I would never get that chance, ever again. Didn't he realize when he did things like this, it only made me more miserable?

I pushed him away, tears starting to fall again from my eyes, but I paid them no mind. I rolled—okay, fell— off his bed, then collapsed on mine, grabbing a hold of my pillow and letting it catch my tears.

"Matt, I…" he mumbled from his bed. I heard the bedsprings move, then felt him rub my back with one hand soothingly. _Like Michael would have…_

"…I'm sorry—"

"Go away!"

"I just wanted to—"

"Exactly. _You_ wanted! It's always what everyone _else_ wants from me, all my life! Even what should be happy memories are empty, no emotion from me! My first kiss? Bullshit! Some 'friend' wanted more of me, and I wanted _nothing_ to do with her! My first love? Well, you know how that turned out! He doesn't give a _shit_ about me!" I burst out. I was sick of keeping all these thoughts that had cluttered my mind since Michael had left just bottled up inside. I never meant to yell at him, but he struck a nerve, and these days, that was very easy to do. I didn't even care if I hurt anyone anymore. In class, I could hardly keep my composure. And I just _snapped_.

I was sitting up on my bed, yelling at him, when I saw him hold his head down and walk over to his bed, shutting out his light, then rolled over so his back was facing me. I heard a few choked sobs, which he, apparently, didn't care if I heard anymore. I ignored them. Serves him right. I did the same thing, after removing my goggles and setting them on the nightstand by my light. In my dreams, I didn't need the orange tint to decide which world I was in. It was the only time I was in total control. I grabbed my pillow, doing my best to cry silently, as there was only one person in the world I wanted to help me now, to save me from this hell I had created. Mello wasn't it.

But I doubted he would even try, if he could. He would never come back to me…

I lost myself in my half-dreaming world of memory and fantasy, crying as I thought of what I should have said to him that night, and what could have been.

Needless to say, neither of us went to bed happy that night.


	4. Loss Part Two

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. **_

When I woke up the next morning, I took a quick shower to wash away the sweat from the previous day, along with what could only be Mello's scent rubbing off on me when we were so close. It kind of made me sick.

I dressed quickly, throwing on a randomly-chosen outfit, with no boxers; I didn't feel like digging through my dresser to find a pair. This whole situation had made me lose what little ambition I'd had for cleaning up after myself and organizing my few belongings. I walked slowly to breakfast, even though it was almost over. Mello would be on my ass if I didn't eat anything, at all, for two straight days, which would be apt to happen, since I hadn't eaten a thing yesterday.

I sighed, looking for Mello. He was sitting alone in the far back corner, as he always was when I wasn't with him. Apparently I was his only friend, besides Michael. Since we were together all the time, Mello must have been alone during that time. I gave this a thought, but didn't care enough to know what I would do about it— if I wanted to do anything at all.

I grabbed a few pieces of fruit, too lazy to hunt down the remnants of the last few pancakes. I wasn't that hungry, anyway.

"Hey." He said without looking up, noticing my figure in his peripheral vision.

"Hi." If he didn't want to talk, fine by me.

"You should eat more," he offered as he looked up to my plate.

Damn. Not this again. "Not hungry." I replied. And that was the truth. I had no appetite anymore.

"Come on, Matt… I'm worried about you. You've lost ten pounds, at _least_. You're skinny as fuck. You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry, Mello." My voice had an edge to it that I didn't recognize. I watched him reach into his pocket, confused, then throw whatever object he found in my direction. "Eat this, at least."

"Mello, I _said_—"

"Do you know how hard it is for me to share that? Eat it, Matt!"

"Wow, Mello's sharing his chocolate? I'll take it!" a boy whose name I didn't know—or want to know, for that matter— said as he passed by our table, reaching over to my side for the chocolate bar. Mello, glaring, punched him in the face, then stood up and roundhouse kicked him, making him fall over.

"Ow, Mello! Damn it!" he whined, running away empty handed.

Mello grabbed the chocolate again, unwrapping it. He then grabbed me by my neck and opened my mouth with his fingers by force, pushing the chocolate in with his other hand. He snapped it, pulling the rest of the bar away, leaving me with a small block of chocolate still in my mouth. I looked at him, confused.

"There, wasn't so hard now, was it?" he asked, and I could _hear_ his sick joy as I swallowed the piece I was given. Damn. After eating some, I understood why he was addicted to it.

"No…Thanks, Mello." I muttered weakly.

"No problem."

The bell rang, and he set the rest of the candy in front of me once more. "You can have the rest, then. Love ya, Matt." He patted me on the back as he walked toward our room, leaving me terribly confused.

But damn. If he was sharing his chocolate with me, he must really be in love..

But that's pretty much the exact same thing I thought about Michael.

In a daze, I wandered outside. Since it was Sunday, as I recalled from somewhere deep in my mind, we were allowed to go anywhere we wanted for the day, as there were no classes. It was May, so I didn't have to worry about cold weather… Though, in the mental state I was in, I probably wouldn't have minded much.

Subconsciously, I found my way to a spot, hidden by tall trees, that was surrounded by large rocks. It was where I'd had my first kiss with Michael… I don't know what led me here, when my mind couldn't possibly betray me like this— I'd been through so much pain, and the memories associated with this place could only make it worse.

At least nobody would look for me here. The only person still here who knew where this was should know better than to look for me here. After all, he was a genius. Even by our standards.

Whereas Michael was just a stupid, piece-of-shit slut, barely smart enough to be here… His only real 'skill' was reading people. Just for insults to reach deep into the heart and tear it out, then rip it apart with a jagged, rusty knife and stitch it back together and put it back in my chest, only to repeat the painful process again.

I was insulting him, but just couldn't bring myself to mean the words. There were plenty of other things he was good at. He played the piano-beautifully. He was even writing a song for me. But, of course, he left before he finished, and I never heard it...

I started to cry, wiping my tears on my sleeve. It was almost summer, but I was still wearing long-sleeved shirts. I just didn't care anymore.

I sat there in solitude for about an hour, just crying and reminiscing about all the events that had happened in the past few months, all starting _here_. This spot was where Mello, Michael and I used to hang out—before we dated, of course— and it was also where he asked me out. I remembered that moment. He was standing about ten feet to my left, facing away from my current position. He was being tender with me, for the first time. He messed with my hair, then brushed my cheek with his thumb. He leaned in closer before asking if I'd be his boyfriend. I blushed, as I always did—I wasn't used to 'romantic' attention, and I never would be— and said yes. He hugged me so suddenly and had such a tight grip on me that I lost my balance and we both fell over, laughing.

I smiled at the bittersweet memory. I shook my head, as if trying to dislodge it from my memory, but it proved useless.

I sat there thinking for quite some time, undisturbed, just reminiscing about our relationship, particularly the start. I remembered all the _moments_ we've shared here. This spot was, basically, the center of our relationship. We'd had our first kiss here, and this was also the spot he'd asked me out at. I came here one day, crying my eyes out, and he came to find me and sat with me all night. It was early December, and he took off his coat and gave it to me, since I didn't have one and was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt. I thought, at the time, that it was so sweet. He didn't have on much more than I did, but he still thought about me before himself.

I remember that it happened… Basically in the same exact spot that I was sitting in now. The realization sent shivers running down my spine. He was _here_ in one moment of time. He existed. He's not just a part of my imagination.

Suddenly, I felt just as cold as I did that night. It was strange. It was actually quite hot out, yet I felt as cold as ice.

I knew I couldn't stay there. I had to leave if I wanted to stay sane. Tears started dripping down my face, and I shook my head as I wiped them from my eyes. I stood up, slightly sore from staying in the same position so long. I was already starting to go crazy without him, and I walked to a place where I could—hopefully— find solace. My room.

Somehow, I found my way there unharmed. Mello was lying on the bed, reading a book about dreams— I could see that much from across the room. When I let the door slam, he looked up.

"Matt, come here. I found something interesting. You'll like it."

I walked from the door directly to his bed, which was made neatly, unlike mine, and I sat down next to him. "Hm?"

"Look at this," he said, sitting up to hand me the book, which was already open to a page halfway through the book. "Lucid Dreaming" was typed across the top of one page in big, bold, fancy font that made it hard to read. I scanned over the page, slightly confused about why he wanted me to read this.

"I noticed that you've been having nightmares recently, so I thought I'd try to help. But I think this is more… Useful to you," he said sheepishly as I kept reading the page.

"You can control your dreams?" I said loudly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Yeah, that's basically it. You have to know you're dreaming, though. But after that, you can manipulate the next scenes."

"That's… _Really_ cool! I can probably do it. I mean, it says you have to work on recalling your dreams, but I already remember mine. And I'm smart enough to figure it out." I said, excited, hoping I could manage this. I probably _could_; I was smart, but lazy. If I put my mind to something, though, I could practically do anything. Hell, I could probably figure out how to _fly_.

I might be able to have Michael back, at least in my dreams. Maybe my life wouldn't suck so badly, then.

"How do you do it?" I asked, genuinely interested in something for the first time in God knows how long.

"Well, you have to know your dreams well enough so that you can tell you're dreaming. That's basically it, actually. After that, you can do whatever the fuck you want. The hard part is not waking up, it seems…"

I nodded. "Thanks for telling me."

The bell for dinner rang—just how long was I outside?— and Mello slid off the bed, waiting for me to do the same. Once I did, we went off to dinner, walking side-by-side, not quite like a couple, but the way Mello was glancing at me affectionately made me remember what it was like going somewhere with Michael. We sat by each other, like we used to before I sat alone with Michael or just by myself, as of late, and I actually spoke to him. I even ate a normal meal, hopeful that, for once, I could be happy.

It was about seven when I got back to my room. Mello and I talked for a few hours—I can't remember what about— until we were _supposed_ to go to bed at ten. We'd always stayed up for at least an hour after that, but tonight I was almost… Excited to go to sleep. I'd been looking forward to it, in a sense, since he'd told me about lucid dreaming. I was nervous, but I wanted to see if I could at least _dream_ about him, if I couldn't have him in real life.

"Hey, Matt?" Mello said, removing his shirt and changing into his pajamas very immodestly. We've been roommates for years, after all. I'd seen his body and he'd seen mine.

"Yeah, Mels?" I asked, stripping out of my shirt and pants as well. It was _really_ hot in here, since it was May, and I wasn't going to sleep fully clothed.

And, hell, who doesn't love Pac-Man themed boxers?

I flopped down on top of my covers, watching him.

"Good luck, I guess." He finally said, smiling slightly.

I smiled back, genuinely for the first time in a while. "Thanks."

He shut off his lamp, and, in the darkness, I still managed to see him crawl into his bed and pull the covers over him, facing away from me.

"G'night…" I yawned, turning off my own light, then rolled over on my left side, facing away from Mello, favoring instead the blank wall. I did my best to think solely about Michael—though it wasn't that hard; he was always on my mind— before I fell asleep. I figured it might increase my odds of dreaming about him somehow.

Eventually, I drifted to sleep, though I didn't realize it immediately. At first, I thought I was still in my room. The lights were out, because it was morning; I could tell from the amount of light coming through the window. Mello wasn't there, I noticed.

_Wait a second… I think I'm dreaming._ I smiled. _Kick-ass! First try, too. _

I decided to go to Michael's room. _He'll be there. After all, I'm in control of all this, aren't I?_

I walked down the hallway, which was strangely empty. Normally, there would be couples walking to class together, or sneaking in a kiss or two before class. Or there would be the occasional kid running to class, late. Often, Mello would chase some random kid down the hall, threatening him all the while with unique threats for each person. Sometimes, there would even be a fight. But the halls were never completely deserted like this.

I shrugged it off, and continued to walk to Michael's room. When I got there, I was not prepared for the scene I would witness.

The door was wide open, letting me see the entire room. Bodies were piled high throughout the room, some halfway off the bed or leaning against walls, furniture, or each other. Some were just abandoned, with limbs strewn all over the place, spread out on the floor. Blood was everywhere. And there he was, at the center of it all, hacking at a kid I saw every day, but didn't know by name. He was barely recognizable, though, with what Michael had done to him.

While doing this, he laughed. He _laughed_! I tried to back away from the horrific scene, terrified out of my _mind_, but I bumped into the door and it slammed shut.

He turned around to face me, eyes gleaming with insanity, holding the bloody knife loosely, clothes stained with the blood of who knows how many people. "Hey, Matty. Just missed it. I made Mello kill Near. Near's actually a half-decent fighter. I promised Mello he'd live, after seeing that. It was so entertaining! I'd offer him to you, but as you see…" Insanity filled his voice, making him sound oddly high-pitched. He sounded… Joyous. Proud, even.

_What the hell happened to him?_

He stepped out of the way, a few staggering, drunk-like steps to the right, revealing Mello's corpse to me.

It was… Shocking. He was completely naked, and there was a long, vertical gash from his chest to his stomach, with his guts spilling out. His intestines were pulled halfway out of him, spilling out onto the floor. His head rolled limply to one side, and his face had the expression of sheer horror. His legs— _What? _His legs were spread out at an odd angle, and there was some cum on him… _Almost as if…_

"I fucked him, if you couldn't tell. He wasn't dead while I was doing it. He's such a screamer… It was damn good. Almost good enough to make me leave him alive. But, you see I didn't." He laughed harshly, the sound making me want to rip off my own ears. I never thought I'd feel this way about him before. It was sickening. "You should see what he did to Near. I couldn't leave him alive after that. I knew he'd probably do his best to kill me." He pushed a body over, revealing Near, who'd obviously gone through Hell at the hands of my former lover.

His… His head wasn't even attached to his body! He was missing an arm, both of his legs, and his guts were pulled _completely_ out of him, like Mello's, but worse. I… Oh, God, I could see his _heart_!

It was horrifying. I almost threw up. The stench was atrocious, and seeing all those bodies… Kids I'd known my entire life, kids I'd barely known… My best friend… It made me want to scream. I almost couldn't even tell it was Near. His clothes weren't even white. They were red. Completely soaked in his own blood, and other kids'. The only clue was the blood-spattered toy robot clenched in his even paler-than-in-life hand.

"Wanna be next, Matty? I'll leave you alive while we have some fun…" He held my against the wall with one hand and pressed the knife into my throat with the other, drawing blood.

_Wake up… Wakeupwakeupwakeup!_

I tore my eyes away from him, and turned my head away, too, so he couldn't see the fear that was so obviously painted on my face.

"Hey, don't worry. It's fine." He grabbed my chin with his hand and held it still, pulling me closer to him and kissing me on the lips. He bit my lip, trying to gain access to my mouth, but I denied him. He pulled away, then looked down on my, confused and slightly angry.

"Matt? Don't say no to me. Come on."

He tried again, and still, I denied him. I didn't want to kiss him now. I didn't want to kiss a killer. He slammed my head against the wall, and I grunted in pain, holding back a scream, as tears started to well up in my eyes. He… Just wasn't the same. Why did he become this way? What _had_ he become?

"You know, I would have let you kill Linda. But now, I think I'll just kill you." He dug the knife deeper into my throat, and I tried not to whine, which would have only dug it deeper. I thought quick, kneeing him in the crotch, and _ran_.

I sprinted down the hallway, without even checking to see if he was following me. It'd only waste time, and I didn't want to know how close to catching me he was. I ran to Roger's office, thinking he might be able to help me somehow. He _did_ run the place, and his door was never locked. I hoped he'd be able to stop him, somehow. Since, even though this was my dream, I couldn't control him. And it may only be a dream, but it certainly couldn't be pleasurable to be _killed_.

"Roger, Roger!" I yelled, barging into the room, practically knocking the door off its hinges. The chair spun around from the disturbance, and he was dead as well, his head nearly, but not quite, chopped off. It was hanging to one side, and when the chair had spun around, his head rolled the other way— and fell off completely, rolling to my feet.

I screamed, turning around to run out the door, but Michael stepped into the entrance, blocking my escape, brandishing his knife murderously, his intent shining in his eyes. "Looking for me?" He said menacingly, stepping closer. I backed away, but he grabbed my arm roughly.

"Don't leave me, Matty… If you die, you can stay with my forever," he said before shoving me against the wall and placing the knife against my stomach, with the blade digging into the entire length of my stomach horizontally. He actually _smiled_ while doing this.

"How should I do it? Nice and quick, or slow and painful?" He dragged the knife across, making a deep incision into my stomach. I made a choked gagging sound at the pain, and would have crumbled to the floor if he didn't hold me up.

"Not so fast, Matty. I'm not done. Don't you want your last few moments to give you a _thrill_?"

He looked at me with bloodlust—and just plain lust— in his eyes as he reached his hand down into my pants.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, _fuck_! I didn't want this, for once. I struggled to get away, but he held me still. He grinned at me, sensing my hesitance. "It'll be good for you, too… It'll make the pain go away."

He kept his hand inside my pants, making me squirm, and wormed his fingers down into my boxers, teasing me with his warm, sticky-from-blood hand. _So, is he just going to get me off, then kill me?_

"Just relax, Matty… I'll make it good for you." He removed his hand from my pants, thankfully, but right after, he unbuttoned my pants. After he unzipped them, he pulled them down to my thighs, where they fell down to my ankles on their own.

He pulled my shirt up, then off, and played with the cut with his fingers, and I groaned in pain from him shoving his fingers into it.

_How did I lose control? It's my own dream. I should have been able to keep control… He shouldn't be able to do this to me._

He put his hand to my face and brushed my cheek with his bloody fingers. "Relax." He pulled my boxers down with his other hand, and _damn it_ he could see how aroused he'd made me against my will. He kept stroking me with that hand until I couldn't restrain my moan any longer. Damn. He'd always been able to turn me on, and now I only felt vulnerable because of it.

I felt my own blood on my face as he pulled his fingers away, travelling down my body back down to my cut, leaving a sticky trail as he played with the wound again, gathering more blood on his fingers. He shoved his fingers inside, making me let out a cry of pain.

Then, he placed his fingers in between my legs, and shoved them in without warning, stretching me enough to take him. His fingers struck my prostate, and, though I didn't want it to feel good, I wanted to shut out the experience altogether, I moaned from the pleasure, then but my lip to restrain it.

"It's okay. Don't hold back. There's nobody here to hear you," he whispered in my ear, before undoing his pants with one hand and wrapping my legs around him, slightly annoyed that I didn't do it myself, as evident from his glare, as he prepared to thrust into me.

_This is disgusting. He's using _blood_ as lubricant. It's just wrong. _

As he thrust in, I cried out in pain from not being prepared well—and with my own blood, no less— and he petted my hair reassuringly, which relaxed me. _Damn it all, the man knows me._ He kissed my lips before drawing himself out and thrusting in again, this time at _just_ the right angle. I moaned, despite it all. Unfortunately, he was right. It felt damn good, like he'd said.

Before I knew it, actually, I was about to cum, not quite as reluctant to him as I'd been a few minutes ago. My moans were loud, completely unrestrained now.

I grabbed onto him, my nails digging into his back, as I released myself onto his chest, and my own, with a loud moan. He did the same with a few more rough thrusts, as my legs grew weak and I fell to the floor, right after he released himself in me.

He sat by me, panting, for a few minutes as our heartbeats returned to normal. I was content. My lover had finally returned to me…

I watched, confused, as he reached around his feet for the knife he'd dropped earlier. Still dazed from the pleasure he had given me just a few moments before, I didn't pay it much mind. I just looked at him. He raised it to my chest without saying a word, the cold metal freezing my hot skin.

It didn't even hurt that badly as he thrust the knife into my rapidly-beating heart.

In bed, I sat up, aware that my heart was still functioning by the rate at which it beat. My skin was sticky with sweat, and I was breathing hard to try to calm myself down. I whined quietly, holding back a sob.

Mello, who'd always been a light sleeper, unlike me, heard me making whimpering noises, still scared from my dream, and jumped over to my bed. We'd both been losing sleep over my recent nightmares.

"You okay? What happened?" He sat next to me and let me grab him, holding his body close as he ran his hand down my bare back reassuringly. I only pulled him closer. I was chilled to the bone, scared that the dream might actually come true. All I knew was, he was warm.

"Well… I dreamed about him. But he… Killed you and Near—you were gutted, and he was decapitated— and… He raped… Both of us." I was practically in tears as I held on to my best friend. It was just horrible—even if it wasn't quite real.

"It's going to be okay, Matt…"

This really was odd, though. The thought of sex with Michael again turned me so much. I pulled away from Mello, not wanting it to get awkward, as the dream had gotten me strangely aroused. I suppose it wasn't _that_ strange, but… I didn't exactly like it.

I fidgeted nervously before letting go of him completely, sliding off the bed and walking into the bathroom. I thought of Michael, the many times we'd had sex in real life, and the way he'd taken me in the dream, as I jacked off. How nice would it be to really _have_ him in my arms again? Or… A replica. A replacement.

Mello would do quite nicely, with his frame. There would have to be a few adjustments, though, if my idea were to work. I smiled to myself, thinking of how great this would be if it succeeded.


	5. Last

Game Over

Part Three

Last

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. **_

Mello's hair was too long, and it ruined everything.

I'd dyed it, but each time I wanted to run to Michael, I turned to him, and it was just… Wrong. He didn't look enough like him, much to my displeasure. My efforts were wasted. They were just too different.

And yet, I still tried to use him, every night, to try to ease the pain in my heart that I know will never heal. Especially if I keep doing this, chasing a dream that will never become reality. It only made it worse, it only killed off more of me every time, but I just couldn't stop.

The first time I did it, he was just so excited. He _wanted_ to do it, wanted to be _used_ by me, even more than I wanted to use him. Which actually made sense; he wanted the person who was with him, right then, but was obsessed with, _craving_, the one person I couldn't have. Truthfully, I was dreading using him.

I didn't have the handcuffs Michael and I used to use on each other, enhancing the thrill for both of us. He'd taken them with him, along with the happiness he always gave me, leaving only emptiness in my heart, the light he gave my world fading more each day, my world growing closer to total darkness with each second he was gone.

But there was no way I could do anything to Michael—in my mind, I'd made Mello into Michael, forcing him to act like, taste like, look like, moan like, _fuck like_ him. And, obediently, he followed each command, like an animal— without handcuffs, or him restrained in some way. We'd never done it like that, after our first time. He'd gotten very… Kinky, exposing the things that secretly got him off. And that, plus me, he'd said, would be the best thrill for him. I'd obliged then, letting him indulge in my body while I indulged in his.

I did the next best thing: tied him to the bedposts with the sheets and blankets. It was very loosely done, and he could probably have escaped or broken free at any time, but he stayed there, for my sake. Or maybe only for his pleasure. Either way, I thanked him mentally.

I didn't want him. I wanted Michael. I'd changed his appearance to match Michael's the best I could, but Mello just wouldn't cut his hair, or get his tattoo. It wasn't enough. His eyes were the wrong color. Michael's were brown. Such a beautiful color. I saw a light yellow sometimes, almost gold, if I stared at him for a while. Maybe it was metaphorical for his golden personality…

Or the shitty way he treats his lovers.

I couldn't get Mello to keep his eyes shut, so I wrapped a cloth around his eyes, to act as a blindfold. I would have found a way to gag him, to prevent me to hear his too-soft voice, but Michael would never have let me do that to him. To me? Yes. But apparently he couldn't stand to be _completely_ under someone else's control. I wanted this to be as realistic as possible, so I wouldn't do anything he wouldn't have let me do to him. Nothing we hadn't done already. I wanted to believe I was actually in bed with him again.

But I couldn't. Mello's body was just too different from Michael's. Far too different.

Even the way he _acted_ in bed was so different. It was blindingly obvious he was a virgin when I first used him for this. He was just so… _Tight_. It felt amazing, honestly, though I hated to admit _he_ gave me pleasure, but _damn._

And when he came, he moaned—more like a _scream_— louder than Michael had ever been. Michael never screamed. I'm guessing it was from the feeling. He didn't seem like the type to 'work himself,' so I doubt he ever even came before, which made him loud, louder than I told him to be. I bit at his neck, clawed into his legs with my fingernails to punish him. I didn't _care_ how I made him feel. I wanted him to act like _Michael_!

He learned to not cry out—though he didn't, or couldn't, hold it in all the time, much to my displeasure— which I enjoyed, cruelly. It was just like Michael. _He,_ at least, didn't cry like a bitch, no matter what.

Maybe he simply wanted _more_, so he did exactly what I told him. As long as he did it, I really didn't care. This was just for me, for _my_ pleasure, not his. I could care less what _he_ thought.

But Michael… I cared too much.

I came inside him, moaning, "Michael…" before I ran into the bathroom, pulling out of him abruptly, sobbing.

I thought it would be different than the day I locked myself in the bathroom, but really, it was the same. Just more painful, because I had allowed myself to lose myself in his body, in the world I had created around my sick, demented fantasy, and my living puppet that let this happen.

Because of that, reality hurt so much more than ever before. I spent a great deal of the night alone in the bathroom, crying. Naked and cold. All by myself.

_Michael was right… I'm pathetic._ I thought, looking at myself in the mirror that covered the wall, my arms around my knees as I was laying on my side, eyes red, tears streaking down my face. _I'm sure he'd say so again, if he saw me now…_

Our next few times went like that. I would finish, usually crying as I took his blindfold off, my eyes looking into his own too-light eyes, or as I pulled his too-long hair. His eyes, too blue and… _innocent_ to be remotely like Michael, widened each time he saw me cry. It was wrong. He shouldn't worry about me.

He was Michael. My lover, not my best friend.

I eventually learned to keep this under control, at least for a few more seconds. I forced my senses to dull as I came, focusing instead on the _pleasure _that _Michael_ was giving me, but I couldn't make it last for long. It was a few seconds where the pain shattering my heart went away, and feeling Mello—_Michael, Michael, Michael_, I told myself over and over, as though my fantasy would come to life if I repeated it— beneath me, his body hot, breathing hard, and sweaty… Just like Michael, made my twisted world a little more real, which finally satisfied me. If only in the few seconds before I saw that it was actually _him._

That made my oh-so-carefully created world shatter once again, my fantasy ruined and my heart tearing in two. I could never believe what I had done. I'd… I'd slept with a man who wasn't _him!_ I'd fallen too deep into my mind, so deeply that my grip on reality was slipping. Just because I realize it's really Mello didn't mean I went back to "normal." I just… Lose myself, diving deeper into my mind each time.

It's been a few weeks since then, and my state of mind isn't any better. I'm insane. I try to fix everything by having sex with Mello— even the madness I get upon seeing _him_, rather than my lover.

His roots are starting to show, now. I saw last night, as I pulled his hair in orgasm. I'm used to the length by now. He's grown his hair out. I'm starting to like it. Even in the darkness, I saw it. I'm realizing it's not him earlier and earlier into our 'session,' but I don't stop. I can't ever stop.

But once again, his hair ruined everything. First, it was too light, then too long, then too dark. Not, it's too light again. Even if hardly noticeable, it's painfully obvious to me. I've always been observant, but now that I examine every detail, hoping it will live up to memory, I'm even more focused on details than ever. But it never lives up to my memories. It never does. It never will.

Something about the way Michael almost-screamed, still holding back, just… did it for me, in a way Mello could never hope to. He couldn't dream to recreate the perfect sounds he made, at the perfect time. He could never do it the way I wanted. I pulled up on his hair, getting a whimper from him as my response, much to my displeasure.

"Sound like I told you to." I ordered for the umpteenth time, and I knew he was trying his hardest to make those sounds, but he just couldn't. And it disgusted me, but I needed it. His body was both the cause and cure for my madness. He was my drug. Not like Michael was; I never felt disgusted about sleeping with him, and he just made me feel like I was perfect. But Mello… What I did to him sickened me. But that blissful _moment_ was worth it, or I thought so at the time.

It went like this, every time: I would thrust into him, even while realizing damn well _who_ it was, but not caring. My fingers would tangle themselves in his hair, and my eyes would close. When I came, I would close my eyes, allowing myself to pet, to stroke his hair for a second before realizing it was _wrong_. Crying, I would force him away, stumbling to my own bed and cry myself to sleep.

This went on for countless nights. For weeks. Now, it was late June. I didn't even remember how many times I had forced myself onto him. I'm sure _he _did. He probably remembered every single detail of each and every time. But it didn't matter. Every day now, I sank deeper into my depression, attempting to self-medicate by using him. It did nothing for me. I was at a point where it didn't help at all anymore.

It was after school, and Mello would have been with his friends or beating up some kid if I hadn't forced him to stay with me at all times. I'd let him go a few weeks ago, and my depression took over me, to the point where I hunted him down and dragged him back to our room to take him, forcing him to the bed without a protest from him. I'd never gotten any resistance. He probably loved when I took him like this. I'd done this many times since—dragging him from the courtyard at lunch to our bedroom or whichever bathroom happened to be nearby, depending on how long I could wait. Most of the times at first were wherever was closest, but as it happened more often, I grew reluctant, because I could see _Mello_, but did it anyway.

It was after school, as I'd said before, and Mello was o his bed, studying tor no reason but to beat Near. Honestly, what I thought was that if all Near _did_ was study—which I doubt, but nobody knows what he does in his room all day— there was no hope Mello could beat him _and_ have whatever social life he had. So, Mello was on his bed, acting rather feminine. He had a strand of hair between his fingers, with one hand on his cheek and the other loosely holding a page from his calculus textbook, ready to turn the page. He was lying on his stomach, kicking his feet slowly back and forth in the air, and just seeing him there, on the bed in that position, made me want to ruin it. It made me want to defile…

Michael. Not _him_. God, _anyone_ but him. But I would, anyway. I stepped silently off of my bed and walked to the edge of his bed. He was facing the wall, so he couldn't see that I was there, and he wasn't paying enough attention with his peripheral vision to see when I walked off my bed. Which means he was very surprised when I climbed on top of him, straddling him and stroking his back through his shirt.

"Hey sexy, ready for me?" I grinded my hips into his, letting my erection press into his ass. I knew that he knew exactly what was about to happen. I'm sure he was biting back a grin.

He nodded, moaning out his approval. I knew damn well he liked it, but I didn't do it for _him_. I don't even know if I did it for me anymore.

I reached under him, between his legs, looking for the button on his pants, groping him on accident until I found it, undoing it quickly with one hand. I pulled down his zipper, then his pants.

I smirked, leaning down to turn his head to the side as I pressed his lips to mine, then pulled away abruptly. I moved my head lower, starting to nip—probably painfully; there was a bit of blood— at his neck.

I wasn't like _this _all the time. I didn't want to dominate Mello. I wanted my _world_, my _reason to live_, back. I'd let him be dominant a few times, but he never did it right. He hadn't the experience, as Michael had, and I wasn't patient enough to give it to him. He couldn't distract himself from the _feeling_, completely forgetting _why_ he was doing it. He forgot to stop moaning, to not scream my name as he reached his climax. When it was _wrong_ like that, I got even more miserable.

I snapped back to reality, grinning as I ran my hand through _Michael's_ hair, then ran my other hand up his shirt, pulling it off, up his body, revealing—

Mello's too-scrawny, half-toned body, not tan enough to live up to my sick game. He was so pale from staying with me, who never went out in the sun. I don't like going outside, and when I'm forced to—because I'm not _Near_ and they won't let me stay inside all day— I stay in the shade. Since he stays with me, he doesn't have a chance to live up to my expectations.

In my mind, I changed his body to Michael's tanned, muscular body. He said all the sex gave him a damn good 'workout,' and that if you had a partner who just wanted to fuck all the time, you'd never have to go to a gym. His words brought a lump to my thoat, but I shook my head. I grinned, happy to see my long-lost lover's body. It had been too long…

I turned him over, letting him witness my insane grin. One of my hands drifted to his boxers, pulling them down and throwing them to a random place on the floor. He'd clean up after. As he squirmed slightly from the feeling of complete exposure, I hit him, letting him know he wasn't acting right.

I grinned. Michael was a masochist, at least when he was like _this_, beneath me on the bed, and he would take any pain I gave him without a whine.

Any other time, he was a sadist. It turned me on so damn much.

I climbed over him, so my waist was over his face, and let him reach up to undo my belt. I imagined the feeling of Michael's touch on my lower stomach. I'd always been so sensitive there, to anyone's touch—even my own— and feeling _his_ fingers there was amazing, almost enough to make me cum right there… Especially the first time. His hands were so _warm_, and I'd just wanted him closer…

He kept touching me there—I told him how much I liked it, and he knew all my sweet spots by now— then forced his hand down my pants, into my boxers, to stroke me as best he could from the awkward position. I allowed him to continue this, as it fit into my fantasies of what Michael and I would do to each other. We would always touch, grab, lick at anything we could. He pulled them down to my knees and I stood up enough to slide them all the way off and throw them aside. I climbed over him once again, so we were almost at eye level. I quickly shut the light off, and, removing my shirt, I grinned to myself. I glimpsed over his body, slightly taller than mine. Perhaps this was the only reason this fantasy almost worked. Or, at the very least, didn't make me fall apart.

"G—God, matt…"

I tugged at his hair fiercely, growling. "Don't talk… Moan if you have to. But don't _talk_," I begged, disguising it as an order.

He nodded, groaning slightly as he bit his lip to keep silent. I grinded my hips into his again, while reaching for the lube I kept conveniently by the bed. I probably didn't need it. He was most likely still stretched enough from last night, or the night before…

Regardless, I went through the process. I didn't give a shit about Mello, but it was what I would have done for Michael. That was all I was doing— what I would do for Michael. I wrapped his legs around me, then pushed myself in.

"Nh…" was the response I got from him.

I guess, in a sense Mello was my sex toy. Well, maybe not quite. Yes, I used him, but to get my _world_ back. Not just as a way to, well, get my rocks off.

"Oh, Michael…" I exhaled as I started to thrust into him. It… It felt damn good to have Michael back in my arms, underneath me again. His body… He was so damn perfect…

I moaned again, licking his chest, then moving up to his face, the face I hadn't seen in so long, that had haunted my dreams for so many months. I forced his mouth open with my tongue—though he didn't exactly resist; Michael had never resisted me— as I kept thrusting into him, hard and deep, as one of my hands glided to stroke his length.

My other hand tangled itself in his hair, pulling him up closer, and with my eyes shut, it was the perfect moment, the perfect _feeling_, the perfect cure for my dying heart.

"Ah… God, Michael…" I moaned.

I heard his voice, too. His slight moans and pants, feeling his hot breath on my neck. I knew his face would be red, and I felt the sweat that covered his body. Michael was just amazing… I was getting so close, and by the way his body was tightening around me, he was too.

I moaned, louder than I would have liked to admit, as I pulled his hair suddenly, causing him to grunt with a voice that wasn't deep enough, pulling me out of my fantasy, but by then I was too far gone to be a part of reality ever again.

As my hands pulled the too-long hair he had dyed black for _my_ sake, I shut my eyes tighter, thrusting into him harder and deeper. I let out a choked moan, biting my lip to keep quiet, as I came inside my lover…

_No!_

My eyes snapped open, revealing _Mello_ beneath me, and I was repulsed by what I had done. He was my best friend…

I closed my eyes again and moaned out Michael's name, letting him cum on me and, still feeling the pleasure from _my_ climax, the wounds in my heart deepened yet again. I sobbed, the moan I was still holding back dying in my throat, letting out, instead, a whimper, and I didn't know whether to pull myself closer to him or run into the bathroom and cry.

I grabbed him by the hair again, pulling him up to me. I saw the pain on his face, and wanted to hurt him even more for doing this to me. "Clean me up." I growled, face twisting in pure hatred. Friends shouldn't let this happen.

He let out a sound that resembled a whine, then nodded, struggling to make the motion because of the tight grip I had on him. I couldn't _believe_ that _he_ was staining my body, the way only Michael had.

He hastily grabbed his blanket and wiped me 'clean.' But no, I could never be clean again. Not after letting myself do _this_ to _him_.

I couldn't do this. Not anymore. I couldn't hold this depression back any longer. I'm… I'm about to snap. I can't go on without him any longer. It's torture.

I'm done. I give up. Game over.

As soon as he was done, I threw him off me, then ran into the bathroom,, slamming and locking the door. I let out a scream, an intensely emotional sound that expressed all my rage and depression and fear, the love and longing and desire for his touch that I had felt over the past few months. I smashed my fist into the mirror, ignoring the superstition. The shards cut into my hand, but my mind was in no state to focus on the pain. My eyes caught sight of themselves in a slightly-bloody fragment of what used to be the mirror. I… I was wild. Insane. I grinned, the blood dripping on the mirror to distort the image.

An animal. That's what I was. Michael would have loved to see me like this.

I looked from my bloody hand to the wall. Laughing wildly to myself, I put my hand to the wall and dragged it along to form a message, written in my own blood.

M 3 M

For life

Until death

Mello started yelling frantically, banging on the door as loudly as he could. "Matt! Get out! Stop it… You're scaring me!"

I grabbed a relatively large, knifelike shard of glass and used it to cut my wrist shallowly, just once. Not deep enough or even in the right place to kill, but the feeling… The _power_ of having complete control over someone's life or death—even if it was my own— thrilled me, exciting me to know end.

"It could be the end, you know… Just one flick of the wrist…" I giggled to myself, a semi-insane laugh punctuating the thought. God, I just felt so _alive_! All my thoughts were on hold. They were gone— all reminders of Michael's betrayal, anything that hurt was somewhere else. I was free here.

I heard a few loud banging sounds, increasing in noise, until one, louder than the rest, was followed by a loud _bang!_ and the door nearly fell on me. I looked up, smile still on my face, and saw Mello with a glare in his eyes that I met with my enlarged, wild eyes and slightly sad, reminiscent grin. My feelings were dulled yet so _vivid_. I was a living contradiction. I felt everything, recalled every memory, but nothing hurt.

I looked at the fallen door with sad eyes and an intrigued grin. _Michael could have done that._

Mello looked around, eyes drifting from the broken mirror all around me, covered in my blood, to the shard still digging into my hand, to my bloody wrists, to the message on the bottom of the wall. I saw his eyes flicker with a glimmer of hope as he read it, then sadness. I guess, at first, he must have associated the M with his own name.

"Matt…" Taking in the scene before him, I guess there was nothing he could say besides my name.

_You win, Michael. I'm pathetic. Sitting here, naked, covered in my own blood and cum. At least Mello has pants. _

The thought made me laugh. It was true; he'd put some pants on, after our unfortunate encounter. But no matter. I was still in my fantasy. Soon, I would be forever.

"Matt, I…" He leaned down next to me, barefoot, on top of a few shards of the mirror. He winced at the pain, but focused his eyes on me.

I realized how very much he was like Michael in the moment. Willing to put up with any pain to be with me.

I tightened my grip on the glass, letting it dig even deeper into my hand. No, damnit, no. I wasn't _thinking_ about that now. I just wanted the endorphin rush I got from the cutting.

"Come on… I'll clean you up," he offered, barely masking the caution in his voice. He knew he had to be careful with me. He knew I was dangerous.

Good.

I growled slightly, not wanting him even _near_ me, let alone _touching_ me.

"I'm getting Roger…" he muttered before rushing off, leaving me alone in the bathroom, and the front door wide open.

I made no attempt to run away, or even move, and when he came back with an armful of bandages, I tilted my head slightly in curiosity. He must have asked for them, not for Roger to fix me.

His eyes widened as he looked over my body. I'd damaged myself even more in the time he was gone. My chest and stomach were covered in jagged cuts. Glass really wasn't the best material for this, let alone a shard that wasn't even neat. The motion I made to make the cuts itself was inconsistent. It definitely wasn't the best way to do this, but it worked.

Mello sighed, glancing over my body once again to see exactly where the cuts were. He looked under the sink for a bottle of disinfectant, shook it up, and unscrewed it, wincing slightly at the smell. He used it on all my cuts, but I didn't mind, though it used to make me a whiny mess. The pain didn't feel so bad anymore.

Secretly, I almost wished I'd bleed out as he wrapped the bandages around my now-clean wounds.

"Now… You should go to bed. We have class tomorrow."

I groaned as he pulled me up, but I didn't feel any of my cuts reopen. I lay on my bed above the covers with his help, as Mello shut the light out. I looked into his face, full of concern, one last time before I shut my eyes.

"Mels… If I'm not up tomorrow when it's time for school, don't wake me up…" I said, half-slurring my words.

I knew my words would probably break his heart. He didn't want to let me out of his sight, and definitely not with what just happened. But I just wanted to sleep, to erase everything that happened between Mello and me. Forever.

"Whatever you want, Matt."

In the morning, as I expected, Mello was gone long before I woke up. I didn't feel any better than last night. I sat up, my wounds stretching painfully, but I didn't feel the need to let out a groan. Pain didn't bother me that much anymore.

At least I didn't have school. Or, rather, I didn't care enough to go. This was my last resort to ever having a hope of feeling better.

I grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil from my backpack, deciding to write down a few of the painful thoughts I'd been having for the past few months, since Michael left.

_You don't understand how painful these last few months have been for me. What happened that night was the most painful event of my life, even worse than the day I was forced to kill my own father. Do you even know that? No. Nobody does. My father killed my mother, and I killed him. I'm a murderer, Mello. That was the event that led me here. To him. To my heartbreak, and eventually, my unenviable death. By the time you read this, Mels, I'll be gone. At least _you_ get final words from the one you supposedly love. If you loved me so much, why didn't you stop me? You had so much time. We all have so much life to live, and thanks to your inability to help, I'm being forced to give mine up because of the unbearable pain in my heart. Why did you only make it worse? All those months, you told me every day how much you love me. How can you not understand that you sent me straight to my death? I told you how it felt before, but maybe you need to be reminded. It's like a million tiny daggers digging deep into my heart. I hope I make you feel the same way he made me feel. Dead, yet for some reason, still alive. That's what I am. I'm a zombie, Mello. I've been meaning to do this for so long. Goodbye. Game over._

_~ Mail Jeevas_

_P.S. You didn't even know that was my name, did you? It just shows how much you know—or _thought_ you knew— about me. _

I signed my real name on the paper, because I felt it was the 'right' thing to do. Nobody was supposed to know it, and we definitely weren't supposed to use it. We were even supposed to forget it. This was the ultimate rebellion. My final act of it, really.

As I wrote the note, one of the cuts on my right forearm opened up, dripping little droplets of blood all over my paper, over my hastily-scrawled words. Mello always called my writing chicken-scratch. Better than writing like a girl, like him.

I set the note down where I knew it would be found: on my bed. The bathroom door was still knocked over, so I just walked in. I didn't care enough to step around the still-not-cleaned-up glass. I just grabbed a random shard off the floor and quickly slashed once along my wrist, deeper than before, slashing my veins and arteries straight through, severing the ties forever, beyond repair. Just like Michael did. It was finally over… I didn't have to live in this hell anymore. I could just be with Michael in my memory forever…

"Mi…ch…ael…" I groaned out weakly, my final word before I hit the ground, eyes closing for the last time.

~/3~

Mello ran down the hallway after class, sighing from the exhaustion of the high-level classes, yet was still worried about Matt, so he couldn't leisurely walk down the hall as usual. He just hoped Matt wouldn't resort to anything drastic. He unlocked the door, eyes immediately focusing on a piece of paper neatly placed on Matt's unmade bed. Matt was nowhere to be found. _He probably just went out somewhere, and left me a note so I wouldn't worry…_ Mello thought, praying to God that it was true. _He's at that spot, where he kissed Michael. _

Mello walked over to the bed and picked up the paper, realizing immediately that it was covered in little drops of blood. It was written in Matt's sloppy handwriting, and as he read it, he let out a gasp. "Matt…"

No. There was _no way_ Matt was dead! It just… couldn't be happening! They never even got a chance to say goodbye…

Where… Where was he? If he could find him… Alive… He could prove that it was just a bad dream, and not reality.

"Matt!" he cried, desperately, starting to race into the hall. Stop scaring me. You're not dead. You can't be dead…!

Wait. He didn't check the entire room. There was still one place Matt could be… But he didn't want to check, even though he knew he had to.

Mello breathed in deeply, opening his eyes when he found himself at the bathroom, gripping the doorframe, nails scratching into it at the sheer horror of the scene before him.

The sight was unbearable. Matt lay, spread out, on top of the broken mirror. One shard was still in his hand, held tightly in his grip, covered in blood. His wrist opposite was completely shredded; he could _see_ the damage to his veins. He'd ripped them open.

It was obvious that Matt was dead. He would never breathe again, never smile, never fall in love with anyone again.

No… No! Matt couldn't be dead. He… He wasn't. He wasn't dead.

_Matt… Matt! You're alive. I know you are. You have to be._ He looked at every detail; the way Matt lay still, unmoving; the way his head rolled limply to the side, with his eyes closed forever; the way no more blood was coming out of the wound. With a cut like that, bleeding wouldn't stop like it had. He… He was dead.

He hadn't even taken the time to put his goggles on. That made it obvious to Mello that he didn't even care.

He looked away from his best friend's body, from his… Almost, could-have-been lover. It was all in the past, every moment, good or bad. Every memory that he'd cherished was forever ruined, distorted by his death. It hurt to realize… Hurt even more than having Matt, the one he loved more than anything, do thing he only dared dream of to him, all while thinking of another, moaning _his_ name in his ear.

Or maybe that was backwards. Mello could live with Matt pretending he was Michael. He could live with being used. He just couldn't live without the one he was used _by_.

Without a second thought, he pried the shard from Matt's cold, unfeeling hand, holding his clothesless body to him just one last—or maybe first— time. He wrapped his arms around his neck to keep it still, and finally gave Matt the kiss he'd always wanted to give him in life, full of all the passion and desire he felt for the poor boy, as he whispered one final, "I love you," slashing his wrist as well, and fell on top of Matt. He was dead in his love's arms, and for once, Matt wouldn't push him away.

_Mello didn't lose. Not this time. He may be dead, but at least he was with the one he loved. Near would never be able to say that. _


	6. Forever

Game Over

Epilogue

Restart/Forever

Matt looked up, shaking his head. Where was he? There shouldn't be anywhere else. He was dead. He _wanted_ to be dead. Why couldn't it just be over?

_Am I in Hell?_ He thought fearfully. There was no way he could be in Heaven. Not after what he'd done with Michael, then eventually Mello. He shook his head again. _Shouldn't Hell have fire, and the souls of the damned… Me… Screaming, because they're forever tortured?_

A voice laughed. "This isn't Heaven or Hell. They don't exist. It's just the afterlife, or whatever you humans call it." The voice explained his unanswered questions. "Everybody comes here after they die."

_Everybody… If I wait long enough, then I'll get Michael back…_

The voice laughed again. Matt decided he didn't like it. "If you can find him, you mean. There are billions of people here— well, souls. The difference is, souls can't sustain damage. So tough luck killing yourself again. And yes, I can read your mind."

_I'll find him_.

"Oh, we've got another kid here. About your age."

Matt assumed the voice talking to him was whatever kind of god really existed. He wondered who the new person was, then decided he didn't really care much.

Until he saw a certain boy with dyed-black hair, blonde roots showing through, with blue, tear-streaked eyes. He pulled nervously at his long, black shirt sleeve, tracing a line invisible to Matt on his wrist. All Matt could see, with the distance between them, was a reddish mark on the skin, still puffy, yet seeming to get smaller with every second. Was it a trick or the light, or was it… Healing?

Matt still had some lingering pain in his wrist. Maybe Mello did, too. The redhead had a scar of his own on his wrist. Injuries must heal upon arrival here, as they would have in life. _That must be why I still have a scar, even though that… Thing… Said we couldn't get injured here._

"Mello…" Matt muttered under his breath. _Why is he here? That means he's dead. Why is he dead? His wrist… Did he kill himself… Because I did?_

Matt's eyes widened in realization.

Mello heard a strange kind of laugh, then a voice said, "I think that redhead over there knows you. He's staring over here and thinking about you."

Mello eagerly looked around until he saw Matt, still sitting on the ground a few feet away. He walked over to him, a strange sense of happiness and long-forgotten innocence in his step, and showing in his smile.

"Mello, I—"

"Matt… Why would you kill yourself?" Mello sounded hurt, and betrayal shone through in his eyes which had been happy only moments prior.

"Living… Living hurt." Matt choked out, unable to form any other excuse.

"Your death hurt me." He could feel the raw pain in his friend's voice, could see the tears in his still-red eyes…

…And he was genuinely sorry. Mello had given up his _life_ for him. He didn't even bother trying to live without him. Matt had seen it; he'd seen it all. There were sorts of… Portals to the world he was in, and he found one that showed his body. It was a weird thought. He'd seen—even _felt_— the kiss Mello gave him after death. It was… Creepy, yet beautiful in a way, he had to admit. Matt realized he didn't want to hurt Mello anymore.

"Matt—" Mello started, about to explain his reasons for killing himself.

"I felt that kiss, Mello," Matt interrupted, making Mello's eyes go wide from shock. That… That was impossible. If he was dead, and _here_, how could he feel anything that happened to his body down on Earth?

"Really? It— It was just, one last… Goodbye. It was everything I didn't get to say to you." Mello mumbled awkwardly, blushing slightly as he looked away.

"It's all right," Matt said, turning his head back to face him. Their eyes met. "What happened after that?"

He hadn't watched anymore, because he didn't want to know if Mello did anything else to violate his corpse. But he was suddenly curious, seeing as how Mello said he had good intentions.

"Well… I wrapped my arms around you… Then I slit my wrists, the same way you did. I… I fell into your arms, I think."

"Oh." It was all he could think to say. Matt wasn't exactly a romantic or anything, but the thought of that pulled at his heart, making him realize that Mello _cared_ for him. Probably more than Michael ever did, or ever _would_.

"What do you plan on doing here, Matt?"

"I'll wait for Michael," he answered quickly, completely sure and confident in his answer. He may have a newfound respect for Mello, but it didn't mean that he was going to give up on everything he'd felt for the past few months.

Matt realized how immediately his death affected Mello. Mello must have felt the same way _he_ felt when Michael left. Nobody deserved to feel like that. Matt didn't want to be the one making him feel that way. It was Hell; he knew it firsthand. Even if it didn't exist physically, it was there, in the empty days and cold nights without the one you loved.

"All right, we'll wait for him, then," Mello said, sitting down beside Matt, wrapping his arm around the redhead's shoulder.

"Together," Matt finished, smiling hopefully while wrapping his arm around Mello's waist.

_**A/N: Okay, so since I decided to upload this all on one day, I just have a long-ass A/N at the end. This story was both impossibly hard and easy to write. I think it turned out the way I envisioned, and I'm proud of it. I may even write an "alternate ending" where Mello walks in just as Matt is about to slash his wrists. Would anybody be interested? Also, I imagined the afterlife they're in to have sort of windows to the human world, kind of like the Shinigami Realm. I guess they can see how others react to their death. I also included Ryuk as the voice they hear. In my mind, he's being punished for sending the human world into chaos. It's not important to the storyline to know that, I just guess it's interesting. **_

_**Reviews? This one killed me. **_

_**Happy anniversary, Michael.**_

_**December 16, 2010**_


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